


No Safe Word

by Robin_tCJ



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Light BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mild D/S, dirty sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Safe Word

  
[No Safe Word](http://wesleyfanfiction.net/archive/viewstory.php?sid=961) by [Robin tCJ](http://wesleyfanfiction.net/archive/viewuser.php?uid=189)  


  
Summary: mild D/S, dirty sex.  
Categories: Fanfiction > Angel Characters:  Angel  
Genres:  Slash  
Warnings:  None  
Challenges:  
Series: None  
Chapters:  1 Completed: Yes  
Word count: 3492 Read: 2507  
Published: June 21, 2005 Updated: June 21, 2005 

No Safe Word by Robin tCJ

It was the longest conversation of Wesley’s life. He wasn’t even entirely sure how it came about. They’d been fighting a Graxlar beast, or rather Angel had been fighting it and Wesley had been getting in the way. He’d been about to get his head lopped off with a scythe when suddenly the demon disappeared, fallen to the left while its head fell to the right, and there was Angel. Staring at him.

Their eyes had met, for a moment that stretched across years, and then they were kissing.

Neither of them had initiated it, and at the same time both of them had. They’d met directly in the middle; Angel stepped over the demon’s body, Wesley stepped forward, and felt himself crushed to a broad, solid chest, arms in the tight vise-like grip as his mouth was plundered, as his mouth plundered.

In an instant, in an eternity, they both jerked back. Eyes met again, this time filled with confusion and regret and shock and desire, and Wesley didn’t know whether it was his eyes that were projecting it or Angel’s or both.

“Angel, I…”

“We can’t do this.”

“I know.”

“The…”

“Curse. I know, Angel.”

And they’d gone their separate ways. Cold showers all around, and the next morning at the office, neither’d said a word about it. For at least a week.

Wesley had dropped a book, careless and clumsy, and bent to pick it up. When he stood again, Angel was there. *Right* there. Inches in front of him, and that time Wesley had definitely been the one to initiate the kiss. Although he wouldn’t have if Angel hadn’t put him in such an irresistible position. Still, it was done, and this time the kiss lasted longer, grew more heated, until Wesley had to wrench himself away, panting for breath. Angel’s eyes *burned* at him, to the very core of him, and it took every ounce of willpower not to step forward and kiss him again.

“We still can’t,” Wesley’d said with some regret. With a lot of regret.

“What if…what if I didn’t like it?” Angel replied.

“That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, I know. But what if…what if it wasn’t perfect happiness?”

Wesley tried not to feel arrogant as he replied, “What if it were?”

“There are ways around it.”

And Wesley would have happily done it like that; held back at the last moment, held off, lied and told Angel it was horrible, just to feel those lips on his again.

But Angel continued. “We could…if I felt bad about it…felt guilty…?”

“Angel…”

“If we…what if we…”

Angel hadn’t been able to bring himself to say it, but Wesley had seemed to know. “What if you dominate me?”

“I’d understand, if you…”

“Angel?”

“Yeah, Wes?”

Wesley dropped to his knees, eyes down, hands clasped behind his back, his heart speeding up a little at the thrill, the debauchery in this one act.

He wanted it. He wanted it desperately. And if this was the only way Angel could… Well, Wesley didn’t mind.

Angel had hauled him to his feet, pulled his chin up and searched his eyes for longer than he should have needed to, kissed him once, softly, before turning and leaving the room.

Wesley had been shocked. Dismayed. Wondered if he had ruined it already; had he done something wrong? Shouldn’t he have known if he had?

But Wesley had remained in the office, staring at the door in confusion, when the phone rang.

He picked it up.

“One hour. My room.”

“Angel?”

“One hour.”

Wesley giggled, his head supplying the “come alone” by itself, but Angel had already hung up.

He’d become nervous over the hour. Suddenly as unsure of himself as ever; does he even know what he’s doing? How exactly does one be a submissive sexual partner? Sure, he’d dropped to his knees, assumed the position he’d seen in pornographic films he rented through the internet under a fake name, but he doesn’t *knoaw*.

He’s been topped before, yes. Several times. He’s always preferred being submissive in bed, though never to the extent of actually fitting within the label.

He doesn’t really know how to go about it. Will the fact that he wants it, that he’ll likely enjoy it, detriment the effect they’re attempting to have on thwarting the curse? Wesley doesn’t know. He almost doesn’t care, he wants it badly enough.

He knocks lightly on Angel’s bedroom door, not sure what to do with his hands while he waits. He doesn’t wait long.

“Come in.”

Wesley walks in, and his breath is stolen.

Angel’s lit candles all over the room. Wesley smells leather, smells wax, smells the faint sulfur of matches. The only light is from the candles. It flickers across the walls, making Angel’s presence in the room harder, more ominous. Wesley swallows dryly.

“Strip.”

Wesley does so, his hands fumbling at the thrill of being owned. When he’s naked, he blushes; he’s aroused, almost painfully, and Angel says nothing. Wesley is tempted to look at him, see his face, to try and see what Angel’s thinking, but he keeps his eyes on the floor in front of him. He folds his hands together in front of him, both because he doesn’t know what else to do with them, and to try to keep them from trembling.

“Get on the bed.”

Wesley hesitates for a moment. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s not sure how to go about it. It almost seems…silly.

“*Now*.”

But it’s not silly anymore. Wesley walks steadily to the bed, then sits down on it.

“Lie down.”

Wesley swings his legs around and lies down, on his back. He keeps his hands on either side of his hips. Above him, he sees steel brackets attached to the walls. He doubts they were there before tonight. They look almost like handles, in a straight line across the wall, from one side of the bed to the other. Beside him, on the bed, is a mahogany box, glinting in the candlelight. Angel moves to the bed, and Wesley sees he’s removed his shirt. Wesley gasps as Angel leans across him, the skin of his belly brushing against Wesley’s nipple.

Angel rummages in the box, pulling out a set of leather restraints. He takes Wesley’s wrists and binds them together with the leather cuffs, tight enough so that Wesley would have to work very, very hard to pull free. Then Angel attaches the restraints to one of the steel brackets, stretching Wesley’s arms over his head.

Wesley’s finding it difficult to breathe, now.

Angel leans over him again, this time sliding his own nipple across both of Wesley’s, and Wesley’s hips jerk up as a moan escapes his throat. Angel attaches an elaborate cock ring to Wesley’s erection, and the contact of Angel’s fingers and the cool leather draws a whimper from him.

Angel pulls back, eyes Wesley’s body up and down, before taking one of the candles from the bedside table. He holds it over Wesley’s chest, but he doesn’t tip it. It drives Wesley mad, the waiting.

“Wesley?”

“Yes, Angel?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

“This is your last chance to back out.”

“I’m sure.”

“You don’t get a safe word.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

Angel looks into his eyes for a moment more, and without looking away, tips the candle.

The flare of pain makes Wesley’s cock harder, and forces him to close his eyes as he hisses air in between his teeth.

“Look at me, Wesley.”

Wesley opens his eyes, and meets Angel’s again. Wesley sees lust there, and regret. He wishes he didn’t see the latter, but he knows that it’s necessary under the circumstances.

Angel tips the candle again, and the hot wax falls just above Wesley’s navel. It just misses the tip of his cock, and he knows Angel did it on purpose. Another gasp, but Wesley keeps his eyes fixed on Angel’s.

“Do you like it when I hurt you, Wesley?”

“Yes,” Wesley admits, his voice breaking slightly with shame.

“Do you want me to hurt you more?”

“No,” Wesley lies.

“That’s one.”

“One what?”

“One lie. One punishment.”

Wesley’s cock swells a little more.

Angel tips the candle again, and this time it lands on Wesley’s balls. It wrenches a cry from him, and he clamps his jaw down on the sound.

He’s breathing hard now, and he’s beginning to sweat. He can feel his hair sticking faintly to his forehead.

Suddenly, Angel uses his supernatural speed to his advantage, and he’s jumped on the bed beside Wesley, grabbed his ankles, and hauled him up so that Wesley’s almost completely upside down. Angel holds him there easily with one hand, a small leather strap seeming to have materialized in his hand.

“One lie, one punishment,” Angel says. “Count.”

There’s a smack in the air as the leather strap connects with the skin of Wesley’s back. It stings, quite a lot, and Wesley cries out.

“Angel--”

“I said count.” Each word is punctuated with a harder strike with the strap.

“F-four,” Wesley says shakily.

“Now, now, Wes. You went to Oxford; I’m sure you know how to count. You don’t start with four, do you?”

“No, I--”

“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

Another smack of the leather hitting his skin, and it’s gone slightly beyond the pleasure-pain line now; it hurts a little more than he’d like, but he also knows it has to, for Angel to actually regret it, for Angel to feel guilty about, for Angel to keep from achieving perfect happiness.

“One.”

“Good. Keep counting.”

Each time Angel strikes him, it’s harder than the last, and by the time he reaches ten, Wesley is gasping for breath and crying out in real pain with every blow. Yet he’s still aroused; still wants this. On the tenth, Angel drops Wesley back to the bed, and the head-rush disorients him even as the sting of his bruised, abused flesh hitting the sheets brings him back to himself.

Angel kneels beside him, reaches up and wordlessly unfastens Wesley from the steel brackets, while Wesley attempts to catch his breath.

“Wesley?”

Wesley doesn’t say anything, but simply looks Angel in the eye again. Tries to tell Angel without words that it’s okay; that he’d like to continue.

After a moment, Angel sets the restraints down, and gets up from the bed. Wesley sees that his isn’t the only cock in the room standing at full attention and leaking.

“You’re going to be my whore, tonight, Wesley. Show me how you’re going to be my whore.”

Wesley takes a ragged breath, thinking for a moment, before turning over and pulling himself up to his hands and knees, ignoring the protestations of his body at the movement. The pain will keep him focused.

“Good boy.”

Angel runs a hand from Wesley’s shoulder to the back of his knee, stroking over the battered flesh. Wesley moans at the rough treatment.

“You’re a very good little whore, Wes. Does it make you feel dirty?”

“Yes,” Wesley replies raggedly.

“Show me.”

Wesley hesitates; show him what?

“Show me where you want me to be. Show me where you want me.”

Angel sits back, waits. Wesley leans forward, presses his forehead against the bed, so his hands aren’t being used to support him anymore.

He reaches behind himself, his cheeks burning with shame, as he grasps one buttock in each hand. It hurts, to touch, but he breathes through the pain and pulls, spreading himself, spreading his cheeks wide to show Angel his entrance.

“Wider,” Angel says after a moment.

Wesley readjusts his grip and pulls harder, opening himself up a little more; he can feel a sudden coolness just inside his opening, indicating that he’s pulled widely enough for his asshole to stretch open.

“When was the last time you let someone fuck you, Wes?”

Wesley has to think about it for a moment, but he’s so turned on that he can’t think straight. “Um…a few years ago?”

“When?”

Wesley thinks harder. “I was—I was in Europe. Spain. On holiday.”

“Did he have a big cock?”

Wesley gasps.

“Did he?”

“It was all right.”

“Did you want him to be bigger?”

“Yes.”

“Did you want him to tear you open, did you want to be able to feel him in the back of your throat?”

“*Yes.*”

“Is my cock bigger than his?”

Wesley’d only seen it for a moment, but… “Yes.”

“Do you want me to fuck you with it?”

“Yes. Please, Angel, yes.”

“Don’t move. I want you to hold yourself like that; open, waiting for me to fuck you. Begging me.”

“Please,” Wesley breathes. But he doesn’t move. It seems like he’s been holding himself that way for hours; his arms are shaking, the muscles screaming with exhaustion. His neck hurts, stiff from holding itself still for too long. All the while, he’s been hearing a soft scratching in the room, just over his own breathing, though he doesn’t know what it is.

Finally, Angel moves beside him on the bed, and Wesley realizes from the piece of paper in his hand that the sound he’d been hearing was Angel sketching. Sketching *him*. Held open and silently begging to be filled, waiting for Angel’s cock. He can’t tear his eyes away from the drawing, captivated, until suddenly Angel’s behind him, tongue *inside*, and it’s been entirely too long since Wesley’s had anything inside him other than his own fingers, and his eyes clench shut and he cries out, and he has to grasp the bedsheets to steady himself. The movement causes his shoulders to creak unhappily.

Angel rears back, and there’s a sudden slap to Wesley’s ass as Angel spanks him. “I told you to hold yourself open.”

Wesley moans as he reaches back again and pulls his cheeks wide.

“Don’t move.”

Then Angel’s tongue is pressing inside him again, slick and wet, pushing in deeply, opening him even wider. Wesley grunts, desperate to move his hips but Angel told him not to, so he can’t, no matter how much he wants to press back, get Angel’s tongue deeper.

It goes on forever. Angel never seems to tire, and Wesley knows that by now his own jaw would be aching; as it is, his limbs are trembling, he’s gone far beyond desperation and into the land of mindless, and still Angel’s lapping at him, fucking him deep and wet with his tongue.

“Angel, *please*,” Wesley finally cries, unable to take the torture anymore.

Suddenly Angel’s tongue is gone, and there’s something harder, something wider, bigger, pushing against him, pushing inside him, and Wesley lets out a cry as Angel seats himself in deep.

“Fuck me, please, Angel, please fuck me,” Wesley gasps, over and over again, as Angel begins to move, thrusting powerfully. Wesley’s stretched wider than he’s ever been, and Angel used only his own saliva for lube, and Wesley feels the burn of skin stretching farther than it probably should, but he doesn’t *care* because Angel’s finally inside him, finally fucking him, fast and hard, and Wesley sounds like he’s crying as he sobs in air and cries out with each thrust *right there* where he needs it, where it makes flashbulbs go off behind his eyes and his toes curl and his cock jump and leak even more.

Angel reaches around Wesley’s hip and removes the cock ring, still pinching the base with his fingers, and Wesley’s grateful for that because he’s so close to coming he can’t *stand* it.

“Don’t come till I tell you,” Angel growls in his ear, and Wesley can’t reply, he’s too busy hitching his breath, trying to gasp in some oxygen.

Angel starts thrusting faster, harder, and Wesley can feel his teeth rattle, can feel Angel’s balls slapping hard against his own. Angel takes his hand off Wesley’s cock and Wes cries out, trying to hold back, sure he won’t be able to, when Angel speaks again, breathlessly. “Come, Wes. Come for me.”

Angel moves his hands over Wesley’s, pulling his buttocks even wider, thrusting so hard Wesley’s knees are rising off the bed, and he *has* to put his hands down to support himself or risk breaking his neck, but Angel’s holding him open now anyway, so he’s free to come, and he does; he goes blind for long moments, a jerky shout clawing its way out of his throat as his body shakes and trembles with the force of his orgasm.

Angel’s still shoving his cock deep inside, and it draws Wesley’s orgasm out even longer, until Angel lets out a roar behind him and becomes perfectly, rigidly still for an instant before pounding even harder as he rides out his own orgasm. Finally, Angel collapses over Wesley’s body, and Wesley’s arms give out so that they fall to the bed, completely spent.

Angel recovers first, sliding out of Wesley’s body gently, and moving beside him to lay back down, brushing his fingers down Wesley’s cheek, soothing him as he tries to breathe.

“You okay?” he asks after a few moments.

Wesley grunts. His entire body is aching, but it’s a good ache. He’s entirely certain he won’t be able to walk tomorrow, but he doesn’t care.

“Did I hurt you too much?” Angel asks, his voice a little anxious.

“I’m fine, Angel,” Wesley mumbles, wishing Angel would just shut up so he could slip into tempting unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry I had to… hurt you, like that. I didn’t want to.”

“Yes, you did. But it’s all right, Angel. You wanted to, and you enjoyed it.”

Angel sighs regretfully. “Yeah. But I don’t like it.”

Wesley opens his eyes long enough to meet Angel’s. “I know,” he says, with a sympathetic smile.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.wesleyfanfiction.net/archive/viewstory.php?sid=961>  



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